


Blunt

by DangerFloof



Series: A Two Parent, Two Bottles of Wine a Night Job [6]
Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Secrets, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 04:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14609763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerFloof/pseuds/DangerFloof
Summary: Louise takes her latest get-rich-quick scheme too far, and Bob has to deal with the consequences.





	Blunt

**Author's Note:**

> Part three of the "Two Parent, Two Bottles of Wine a Night Job" series.

_Come on, Bob, you can do this._

“Ready, Dad?” Louise stood in the doorway to the living room with a giant bowl of popcorn in her hands. 

“Mm-hum.”

“Good.” Louise turned off the light and padded over to the couch on bunny-slippered feet, guided by the light of the TV, which Bob had primed with their favorite Hawk and Chick film: Hawk and Chick vs. Gamera. She placed the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and flopped dramatically into the far corner of the couch. Bob winced, but the old couch held.

“God, I need it. Mrs. Martins is a slave driver, Dad. Literally, a slave driver!”

Bob was very proud of Louise’s late-found love of math—she had all but begged Mrs. Martins for a spot in her advanced trig class—but it was times like these he wished that she also had Tina’s vocabulary. “Not _literally_ , Louise.”

“Yes, _literally_ , Dad! With a whip and everything!”

Bob sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose; he didn’t have the energy or focus for this right now. _One battle at a time, Bob_ , he reminded himself, and he didn’t just mean Hawk and Chick’s enemy of the week.

He hit play, and Bob and Louise watched half the movie together companionably, reciting lines with the show, warning characters against danger, and periodically shushing each other, even though Linda, snoring in the bedroom, was an extremely deep sleeper, and Gene was at Wonder Warf performing as a mime for one of his classes. Bob couldn’t loose himself in the movie as deeply as he’d like. Every time he moved he felt the baggie crinkle in his pocket, reminding him of why he’d suggested movie night in the first place. Lin hated these movies, and this was a discussion that he did _not_ want to have with his wife around, so it was an easy cover to get her out of the way. Linda and Louise loved each other, but they provoked each other too easily, escalated every minor annoyance into a full-scale, apocalyptic meltdown. Granted, they were getting on better now that Louise was seventeen. Bob hated confrontation. _Maybe he could…?_ No, it was best if he handled this one himself, quietly and discreetly, only calling on reinforcement if he absolutely needed it. He glanced at his unsuspecting daughter, her mouth half-open in astonishment at the cheesy fight scenes she’s seen a dozen times already over the years. _I’m not procrastinating, I’m…I’m just getting her to lower her guard. Yeah, I’m, uh, going to relax the truth out of her._

They stopped for a bathroom break. Bob went first, then refilled their drinks and filled the bowl with more popcorn, occasionally touching the squishy plastic bag in his pocket, psyching himself up for the confrontation he knew he had to have with his daughter.

His favorite daughter. Bob knew that parents weren’t supposed to have favorites, but Louise was his, just as much as Gene was Linda’s. Tina was…everyone’s, he guessed. He had no idea where the time went. First Tina grew up and left to earn an English degree in Chicago, where he hoped she wasn’t acquiring crippling loan debt along with her education. Tina always skated around the subject of money, and refused to accept help from her parents. Bob admired her prickly independence, even though it worried him, too.  As for Gene, Bob was secretly convinced that he would never move out of his childhood room. Gene had done well enough in high school—a C average is still average—but fought anything beyond that tooth and nail. Eventually, after months of arguing, he caved and signed up at the local community college. Linda apparently didn’t think it was odd that all of the classes he signed up for were performance-related, but Bob knew better; Gene would drop out after he finished taking all of the classes he cared about, without a diploma, and Bob would have to be content knowing that he forced his son to have at least some advanced education.

He dropped off their glasses, then the popcorn in the living room, passing a large photo of Gene twice. He paused the second time and studied it. There Gene was, fright wig, comically oversized shoes and all, performing for a birthday party at Jimmy Pesto’s. Bob’s hatred for Pesto couldn’t wipe the small, proud smile from his lips; he had to admit that Poots the Clown was pretty funny, and he knew Gene would at least be happy, if not financially solvent, as long as he was performing.

He heard the toilet flush, and went back over to his spot on the couch. He munched a handful of popcorn. _You’ve got this, Bob._ He heard her turn off the faucet, then open the door. Louise strode into the living room, running her damp hands along her black, skull-printed pajama pants. He wasn’t sure when skinny little Baby Belcher grew into the woman who plopped down beside him. It felt like he blinked, and this older Louise just popped into existence. She was as tall as Bob, curvier than her sister, probably more muscular than her brother, and had a charismatic presence that commanded attention from everyone in the room. Sometimes, he and Lin looked at her and shared a smile, silently wondering how they’d managed to produce such a child.

Fingers clicked impatiently in front of his eyes.

“Dad! Hey, Dad! Back to Earth.”

Bob swatted her hand away. “Stop that.”

“You were pretty zoned out—I just wanted to make sure aliens didn’t zap your brain, or that you didn’t have a stroke. You aren’t stroking out on me, are you? Can you smell toast?”

“Louise…”

She settled into the couch, tucking her knees to her chest. “Well, turn the movie back on, then.”

_It’s now or never. Just be direct, Bob._

“In a minute,” he said, fishing in his pocket, fighting against lint and defiant fingers that fumbled, as uneager to do this as the rest of him was. Finally, he pulled out the bag of weed and held it up in front of her.

“I found this in your room, along with the others.” He fought to keep his voice neutral. He wasn’t sure he’d found everything—Louise was an expert at hiding things—but she didn’t need to know that.

Even in the dim light he saw her go very pale, then very red. Louise was adept at all sorts of subterfuge, really, but she could rarely pull off lying to him. She couldn’t meet his eyes, and produced weak, forced laughter that confirmed his worst fears. “I—what’s that, Dad? Oregano? Dried parsley? Wh-why are you caring spices in your pockets? Are you and Mom competing again? Sorry, but this doesn’t top the Spicerack or Spicecep—“

“ _Louise._ ”

She shut her mouth with an audible pop.

“I found _a lot_ of pot. Are you ever sober? What else are you doing?”

Her shoulders slumped. She picked her cuticles. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, alright? Just weed.”

“You’re not going to tell me you’re holding for a friend?”

She looked up at him. “No, it’s all mine.”

It didn’t add up. Fifteen bags of weed, papers, pipes…it punched him in the gut with a violence that almost made him vomit. He glanced down the hall, where Lin was still snoring. “You’re selling,” he whispered.

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. Nodded. “I hardly ever smoke,” she added quickly, hopefully, as if that made it any better. She flexed her arms, putting her muscles on display, which was easy to do in the tank tops she’d taken to wearing. “It’s a performance inhibitor, you know.”

Bob stared at her. His hand twitched, and he barely managed to not reach out and slap the stupid off of her face. Louise cringed against the cushions. He stood up, grabbed her arm, and marched her out of the living room, through the kitchen, down the fire escape, and out to the dumpsters behind their building. She whimpered the entire time.

“ _Shut. Up._ ” He growled, gripping her arm even harder. He knew he was hurting her, probably bruising her, knew he’d feel bad about it later, but in his rage he felt justified. Spare the rod and spoil the child, and all that. Drugs. A drug dealer. Sure, just pot, but…a _drug dealer_ , in his house! He released her, almost throwing her against the brick wall. He heard the rustle and clatter of Little King Trashmouth’s descendants as they ran in fear, their peaceful evening snack interrupted. Bob and Louise were toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye. He jabbed a finger in her terrified face. He knew that later, he’d feel ashamed of that, too.

“You just shut the hell up and listen to me,” he hissed. “You want to smoke a little, whatever—I was 17 too. But bringing that crap into my house…dealing it…” He sputtered, almost enraged beyond words, but he pushed through. “It’s not a prank, Louise! It’s illegal, it’s going to escalate—if it hasn’t already—and it’s going to get you thrown in jail. Real jail, not juvie. I was looking into detox centers for you, for Christ’s sake! I’ve never been so disappointed in you. What the hell were you thinking?”

Questions needed answering. When did she start? Who was her supplier? Who were her customers? But the one he asked, the one that drained the fight out of him and made him slump down on the steps in defeat, was simple: “How could you do this to us?”

“To you?” Louise frowned. “It has nothing to do with you,” she said, in a tone that indicated that it should be obvious. “It’s for me.”

Bob looked up at her. She began to pace. She pulled at her long hair in frustration, just as she used to pull the long ties to her pink bunny hat years ago. “Dad, look at me. I’m not brilliant like Tina! I’m never going to get those scholarships, and Mom doesn’t have another Porcelain Babies collection to pawn for tuition. If I’m going to go to college, I have to make it happen myself.”

Bob buried his face in his hands. He thought he was prepared to hear the worst—thought he had already discovered the worst—but he wasn’t prepared for Louise to break his heart. When he spoke, his voice was rough but calm. “Sit down,” he said, patting the crate next to him. Louise obeyed him slowly, hesitantly, unknowingly stomping the shards of his heart under her feet. He never wanted his daughter to be afraid of him. He never thought she _could_ be afraid of him, but he sensed the nervousness, the uncertainty that radiated from her, like a kicked puppy. He took her hand and squeezed it gently, gratified to sense her relax a bit.

“Louise, look at me.”

He knew there were tears in his eyes, but he was astonished that Louise had let her’s flow freely and silently. She didn’t cry often, and she never cried quietly. He brushed them away with his free hand.

“You’ve seen the books, so I’m not going to lie to you. Finances aren’t…good… but they’ve been worse, and with Tina on her own we have a little more cushion. We’ve always made do somehow, and we’re not going to fail you now. Okay, you probably won’t get that many scholarships, and don’t even start me on how Gene is wasting your mother’s Porcelain Baby money, but…you don’t have to do this. I’ll get Fischoeder to let me moonlight for him again. Hell, I’ll sell this myself, if I have to,” he said, holding up the bag of weed. “But you don’t need to."

His voice broke. "I-I’m sorry that I let you down.” Bob turned his face away. He thought he could never look his daughter in the eyes again.

“Dad, I’m the one who let you down. I dis-disapointed you.”

They were quiet for a long time, save the gentle sound of sniffling and mutual reassurances and apologies.

“Okay,” Bob said, finally able to pull himself back into Dad mode. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Tomorrow, you’re going to get rid of all of it. All the pot, the papers, everything.” He gave her a shrewd look. “You’ll take a loss if you have to, cover it with the money I know you have squirreled away, throw it in the ocean if you have to, but it leaves the house and doesn’t return. You never, ever bring that crap into the house or property again, and you are clean from now on. Well, until you’re eighteen, I can’t stop you then, but…no. No drugs while you’re under my roof, understand?”

Louise wiped her eyes on the hem of her shirt and nodded.

“In return, we never tell your mother about this. Not a word, ever, Louise.”

“Oh God, no!”

“Then this Saturday, you and I go to the bank before lunch and open up a savings account for you. You will put _all_ of your money into it, Louise Belcher.”

Louise blanched; she started hiding money before she was five. Nobody—probably not even Louise herself—knew how much she’d socked away. This was asking a lot of her, but she nodded.

“Good. Now, I’m going to have to work with your mother on this, but we will put a regular percentage of profits into your account, so you can watch your college fund grow.”

“Oh Dad, no—“

“This isn’t a negotiation, Louise. You accept the terms—all the terms—or we’ll start with waking up your mother.”

Her hands flung up in surrender. “Fine! You win.”

“I have your word?”

“I swear to God.”

“Then you have my word that I’ll hold up my end of the bargain, and we’ll never talk about this again.”

Louise relaxed; they both knew he could have been much harder on her. She held out her hand. “So do we shake on it or…?”

Bob thought for a moment. Shaking hands didn’t seem right, but they needed to do something to seal the deal. His mustache twitched.  _Peace pipe?_

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” he muttered. “And I wouldn’t do it at all if I thought you had an actual addiction,” he added firmly, and a bit more loudly.

Louise clapped a hand over her mouth, just barely smothering a shout of laughter, as Bob dug a lighter and papers out of his other pocket.

“I’m not a total square, you know.” He fumbled with the papers, scrabbling to open the package.

“Do you want me to—“

“Louise.”

“Yeah, probably not the best idea.”

He glanced over at her daughter. She was gently rubbing her arm, poking lightly and wincing.

“I’m really, really sorry about that.”

Louise shrugged. “I’m really, really sorry I deserved it.”

Father and daughter shared a smile. Bob lit the blunt and passed it to Louise, who took the first hit. He was gratified to see her cough, her lungs struggle against the smoke, final proof that she was truly motivated by profit. They smoked and lounged on the steps for hours, chuckling at nothing, making up stories about the raccoons that rivaled Linda’s. Bob kissed the top of her head.


End file.
